It reminds the Dowbrigade of our #1 son, now residing in the mountains It was a wild and A few years later, the same son refused to board the school van in the \n I live in a disco. It opens at 7 a.m. I rise to the primal flow of "Jungle There are more like her at my house. A 10-year-old who sleeps under But there’s been no calculated effort to steer them toward “good” or “real” or “substantial” music. This is no gingerly insinuated nostalgia trip. I’ve never put on a Jimi Hendrix album and I have no idea how my children discovered Pink Floyd. One could argue that this is the way a forward-looking rock critic’s kids rebel — by dismissing mom’s newest favorite lo-fi indie-pop band and embracing the dinosaurs.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n from the Joan Anderman, writing in today’s Boston Globe, has some very interesting observations on inter-generational taste in music. She is a music critic, and up on Foo Fighters or Ben Harper or Korn or Sheryl Crow, while her kids go nuts … Continue reading ![](\"http:\/\/cyber.law.harvard.edu\/blogs\/static\/dowbrigade\/gows.jpg\")
Joan Anderman, writing
\n in today’s Boston Globe, <\/a>has some very interesting observations on inter-generational
\n taste in music. She
\n is a music critic, and up on Foo Fighters or Ben Harper or Korn or Sheryl
\n Crow, while her kids go nuts for the Doors, Cream, Led Zepplin and Yes.<\/p>\n
\n of Peru trying to simulataneously build and manage a small hostel on
\n a piece of land we bought 25 years ago because it was the most intensely
\n beautiful spot we had ever seen. When he was 3, we lived in a tourist
\n hotel in Huanchaco, a beach town known chiefly for its excellent surfing
\n and reed boat fishing industry. The Dowbrigade taught English Literature
\n and Linguistics at the National University by day, and ran the Bar\/Discoteque,
\n named "Joey’s Pub" after self-same #1 son, by night. Which might at least partially explain what he is currently doing up in the Andes. <\/p>\n
\n extreme part of our past, and there wasn’t much time for sleep. The whole period
\n is admittedly hazy in our mind, but we do remember that every night, just
\n as things were starting to ramp up
\n at
\n the disco
\n next door, and Joey was being put into bed, he would insist on having
\n Pink Floyd’s "Atom Heart Mother" put on the stereo. With his blankie
\n and his He-Man Jammies, and Floyd’s orchestral masterpiece booming in
\n the background, he was inevitably sound asleep by Gilmore’s guitar solo.<\/p>\n
\n mornings without first listening to the Who’s "Magic Bus" at high volume
\n (this
\n was in the days before kids were born with walkmans). On the other hand,
\n his younger brother, who just enlisted in the Marines, has never liked
\n the "old stuff" and listens to an extraterestrial collection of whirrs
\n and clicks and swooshes which can only marginally be classified as music. Go figure. Anyway, Joan writes…<\/p>\n\n
\n Boogie," brush with "Mr. Big Stuff," stumble downstairs
\n to "Super Freak." My daughter is the DJ. The music is coming
\n from her bedroom. She’s 12, begins every day blasting the "Pure
\n Funk" compilation, and would rather eat a tomato than allow Avril
\n Lavigne to infect her record collection.<\/p>\n
\n a wall-size poster of the "Stairway to Heaven" lyrics. A
\n 15-year-old whose massive collection of downloaded music is anchored
\n by what appears
\n to be every Grateful Dead bootleg ever made.<\/p>\n
\n Boston Globe<\/a><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"